Chapter Ten
From three different points in the sand-filled arena, Rhys, Gideon, and Zavier met at the scoreboard. Well, the glorified chalkboard. A young Nephilim , barely half their height, wielded the chalk.
“We all won,” Zavier said, slurring a little as he circled his jaw. Yeah, Ho-Seok slipped a kick by him. But Zavier had grabbed that hard-as-hell foot and tossed him the length of the arena in a spiral that kept his wings from opening. The kick had been worth it.
“I don’t know why I’m keeping score. You all win. Every round.” His yellow wings fluttered with excitement.
Rhys crouched next to him. Slung a bare, sweaty arm around his equally bare, skinny shoulders. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Paulo Braga.”
“Well, Paulo, that’s the most important thing you’ll learn all month. That whoever goes up against one of us? Loses.”
“You’re amazing.”
Zavier didn’t need the hero worship. But Gideon always lapped it up. He lifted Paulo to flip him in a single somersault overhead until the boy squealed with laughter. “Once you’re old enough to start training with a real sword, tell the Master that we said you can do a session with us. He’ll get in touch.”
“Really? Thank you.”
Rhys fist-bumped him. Then Gideon did the same.
“You want to waste our break inspiring the next generation like a freaking cougar motivational poster from the nineties? Or follow through on our actual mission?” Zavier didn’t wait for an answer. He just headed for the tunnels beneath the arena.
He was sore. Hot. The Nephilim stronghold was hidden from humans, just out of phase with the normal world. But it was still physically located at the base of the Taurus Mountains in Turkey. It being November didn’t keep him from working up a sweat in the dry air.
The slap of fighting sandals told him that his friends followed. Any fight at the stronghold had to be in training uniform: leather skirt, wrist and shin guards, and sandals. Pretty much unchanged since Roman times.
“Hey, that kid is our mission,” Rhys said as he caught up.
“He’s too young to know anything. Or to pick sides.” Zavier leaned his mace, sword, and shield into the grooves against the ancient wall.
They all paused at the wide clay basin filled with water to splash their faces. Incongruously, next to it was a glass-fronted mini fridge full of Gatorade. They grabbed bottles and kept heading up the steps that led to the stronghold proper. Caraxis had gotten them a room to hang out in during the breaks. More importantly, it was a place where they could talk privately about anything learned.
Gideon picked up Rhys’s argument. “He’s old enough to brag about a private session with us and maybe piss off the right people. That sort of reaction’s valuable—word could get back to us about whoever doesn’t think we should be training the next generation.”
“That’s a long shot.” Zavier was more of an immediate action guy. He saw the strength of a long-term strategy—he just didn’t want the headache of engineering and waiting for a thing.
“We’re trying to prevent the end of the world. Every shot, no matter how long, is worth taking.” Rhys bumped his shoulder. “Plus, we do have to get our hooks into the next generation. Because I believe we’ll win. That there will be an ‘after.’ And we’ll want to turn that hero worship of Paulo’s into respect.”
As always, it was annoying how right Rhys could be. “Point taken.”
Gideon let out a sharp laugh. “Great. We’ve got an army of one that’ll be good to go in twenty years.”
“I thought you agreed with me?”
“I do. But I also see Zavier’s side—the futility of it, when we need to know now, today, who we can trust to back us up.”
Nice to hear that Gideon’s frustration level matched his own. “Hopefully, we’ll get a read on that while we eat lunch. Do you think Evangeline would be willing to fly back to Buffalo and get those double chili cheese burgers from the pub?”
“Time difference says no.”
They entered the holding room. A long table was covered with Greek salad, shawarma meat, pita, all the fixings, dolmades, and big bowls of figs and orange segments.
Hariel, the Order’s Librarian and one of their few unquestioned allies, greeted them with bowed head. “You have had an impressive morning.”
“Kicking ass. It’s what we do.” Zavier immediately filled a plate. They’d been fighting for four hours already. It was a three-serving kind of day.
“It is what all Nephilim do. But you three do it particularly well.” His yellow eyes blazed with pride…and, as a full-blooded angel, a bit of sunlight.
“Got any money riding on us?” Gideon asked cheerfully.
“Officially, no. I am, after all, an angel.”
An angel, sure. But one who’d lost a wing in a battle many centuries ago. There was no place for him in Heaven after that. Hariel had almost given up. Until Master Caraxis offered him the job of Librarian—sharing all of his knowledge to help the Nephilim win their daily fights against Evil .
His bravery astounded Zavier. And it had been an inspiration in the months he’d been held and tortured. Hariel was the one they trusted the most at the Order.
Plus, he’d taught the guys how to play poker. Nobody could outbluff Hariel. No way was he missing out on an opportunity to gamble on their success.
“Don’t hold back,” Zavier ordered around a mouthful of grape leaves and rice.
“Unofficially, it wasn’t that easy to find anyone willing to bet against you.”
“Nice.” Gideon high-fived Rhys as they sat on the long bench with loaded plates.
“Even those who signed up for the tournament were not so sure of their chances at success.” Hariel’s craggy face crinkled like a happy wadded-up paper bag. “But I did find some youngsters who hadn’t fought alongside you yet, didn’t believe you could live up to the stories they’d heard.”
Gideon sneered. “Moksh Chopra was one of ’em, right? He was cocky as shit. And I took him out in five minutes flat.”
“Indeed. Taking their money will be enjoyable. However, I also have a wager with Kirill Petrov and Hugh O’Cleary. They are most certain of winning. They harbor no friendliness toward you, to put it mildly. I sense that they may know of the coup and already be recruited to the wrong side of it.”
Rhys sighed. “Good to know.”
“I made a request of Ruslan, the arms master. That he inspect each weapon before it goes onto the arena floor.”
“Yeah, I thought that was weird. He cleaned our daggers like he didn’t trust that we’d done it.” It’d been a borderline insult. Since they’d quit the Order, he didn’t believe that they kept up with basic weapon maintenance?
Hariel’s single wing dipped. “That wasn’t cleaning. Or rather, it was more than just cleaning. Because of my sense that there is a faction who would do anything to see you three defeated, he’s wiping down each weapon with an anti-poison.”
Shit.
For all their planning, the possibility of poison hadn’t occurred to them. Not here. Not where the Nephilim lived and trained.
Rhys gave a slow nod. “Thank you. Your knowledge is always more than we could have hoped.”
“Hold that thought.” And the Librarian winked. He didn’t use modern lingo very often, but appeared delighted when he did manage to work it into conversation. “I have made what could be a useful discovery.”
“Really? Do tell,” Maisy said as she joined them. She dropped a kiss on Rhys’s cheek.
She snatched a dolma from Rhys’s plate and rubbed her eyes, looking a bit tired.
Hariel brushed his golden wing through the air. It refocused all their attention. “What I discovered may give us all hope. Although, more likely, it is a complication.”
Zavier made a beckoning gesture. “Let’s hear it.” Hariel’s discovery was bound to be useful. And something they hadn’t come across yet.
“It is my belief that you should summon a demon. Furfur, to be specific.”
An angel suggesting they summon a demon? The world really was ending. “Who’s he, and why do we want to invite him to dinner?”
“He’s a loathsome toady to Astaroth. I’m not cooking for him,” Evangeline said as she entered the room.
“Remember, you’re not a resident of Hell anymore, darling.” Gideon kissed the back of her hand. “Summoning a demon isn’t an invite to hang.”
It’d be nice if they’d let Hariel continue with his point. But Zavier knew that chatting with their women was as restorative to his friends as scarfing down food. So he tamped down his impatience.
Rhys pointed at Maisy. “It’s what we did with the demon who had your Key and the algul that came through.”
That had been a shitshow. Maisy had only been introduced to their world a week before. She knew nothing about spells or demons. Or the consequences of not following instructions to the letter.
Maisy and Rhys had summoned a demon—as well as a far bigger, much more dangerous one who rode piggyback on the summoning to get out of Hell. It had immediately escaped their containment circle and flown off to wreak havoc.
After biting her bottom lip, Maisy asked, “Uh, did that algul ever get caught, BTW? I still feel guilty about letting that monstrosity into the world.”
“You didn’t know,” Eva said with a reassuring pat on the arm.
“She did know,” Rhys corrected. “I gave her concise instructions on what not to do when dealing with such powerful magicks. Maisy didn’t follow through.”
“No need to keep jabbing a pointy stick into that open wound. Lesson learned,” she said sharply.
Zavier had felt like a jerk keeping silent on the topic for the past few months. “I took care of him.”
“What? The algul ? When? Were you hurt?”
Zavier waited—gave Rhys the space to speak up. But the guy just kept shoveling in food, so Zavier went on. “About three weeks after you became the Keeper.”
Maisy jutted her head forward, looking gobsmacked. “So, June?”
“The algul ’s particularly nasty. I pulled in every favor and searched pretty much all the time we weren’t on missions. It couldn’t be allowed to exist on earth.” Especially since it was their fault it had escaped. Rhys had insisted that all three of them prioritize finding it.
“It’s almost December. When were you going to tell me?”
He waited. Again. This wasn’t his fight.
Rhys took Maisy’s hands. “I asked Z to keep silent. You were—you are still learning what it means to have knowledge of celestials and demons. How and when to wield your power. The ramifications of using it. I didn’t want you to assume that if you screwed up, we’d automatically clean up your mess.”
“But you did.”
“Me teaching you an important lesson about responsibility should not come with the side effect of humans dying due to your carelessness.”
Gideon and Zavier had agreed with Rhys—on principle. Except that Zavier liked Maisy. He liked her never-say-die spirit. How she treated him with the care and teasing of a sister. How happy she made Rhys. Lying to her, even by omission, had sucked.
“I’m sorry, Maisy,” he offered.
Her green and brown circled eyes were still locked on Rhys. “No need to apologize. It wasn’t your decision.”
Uh-oh.
That sounded a lot like Rhys would be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future.
She pulled her hands out of Rhys’s grip. “It was cruel. To let me keep worrying for all these months.”
“As the man who loves you, I’m sorry for that. As the man helping to train you and instruct you in our world—I stand by my decision.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t turn away. Just waited for whatever anger cloud was about to burst over his head.
He’d never seen Rhys be more brave. And this was a man who’d helped bring down a hydra .
Gideon and Zavier had both stopped shoveling in food. Hard to swallow when tension strangled the entire room.
Anger still stiffened every muscle in her body. She could be a body double for…whatever the most recent robot character was in the twentieth Star Wars sequel. “That must’ve been hard for you.”
Rhys’s dictatorial teaching mode disappeared. In a low murmur, he said, “So damn hard, sunshine.”
“Then we suffered together. I guess that makes it okay.” Maisy hinged forward to press her forehead against his. “I know I needed the lesson. Don’t do it again, though.”
“Message received.”
Whew.
Zavier got up for his third refill. He took the long way around to peek out the door looking for Liss. She had to know they’d finished this round of fights. Where was she? “Can we get back to the whole demon summoning plan? Like, why?”
The Librarian crossed his hands over the pleats of his toga. You could take an angel out of 509 B.C.E., but you couldn’t make him update his wardrobe by ten centuries. “Furfur started out as a Fallen Angel. He quickly embraced evil and turned into an earl of Hell, commanding twenty-six legions of demons.”
“Oh, and he reports to Astaroth,” added Eva, their resident Hell expert. She filled a bowl with fruit. “Chances are good he knows at least something about the coup.”
“Precisely.”
See, this was the kind of intel that they couldn’t dig up on their own. Zavier had never heard the name Furfur before. There were layers upon layers of soldiers and nobility in Hell’s court. They didn’t exactly go around handing out org charts.
Even though Eva remembered his connection now? There was no way she would’ve come around to figuring out its usefulness without the nudge from Hariel.
Rhys threw up his hands. “But why would he tell us anything?”
Hariel placed the knives on the table into a triangle. “Because before he became a Fallen, Furfur was an angel. So if you summon him and immediately place him in a magician’s triangle, he will revert to his original, although powerless, angelic body. In that form, he cannot lie. His answers about secret and divine things will be the truth.”
Gideon’s forehead creased into a deep line between his brows. “This is sounding too good to be true. Too easy. Why haven’t we been using this guy as our informant forever?”
He’d beaten Zavier to that question by a millisecond.
“Two reasons. If we act on any information supplied by him, Astaroth would quickly realize the source and extinguish him. The Order has been saving him as our ace in the hole. A one-time-only last resort.”
For literally eons they’d been saving this? That was an enormous reveal by Hariel. Sardonically, Zavier asked, “You and Caraxis feel like our current situation qualifies for pulling the trigger?”
“Preventing the release of the Titans and the overthrow of Heaven and Hell? Yes. Yes, indeed we do.”
File that under a big, fat duh .
Rhys double-tapped the table. “What’s the other sticking point?”
Hariel’s single wing tucked in on itself. “Summoning a demon of his rank is not simple.”
“The one we summoned wasn’t simple at all. And it was basically a bottom-rung demon. How bad is ‘not simple’ to you?” Maisy asked, making finger quotes.
Zavier noted how Evangeline’s gaze immediately darted away from her friend. Ah. So…really, really fucking bad, then.
“As I said, he is of high rank. And not just a demon, but a Fallen, as well. That complicates the summoning.”
Zavier circled his finger in the air. “Cut to the chase.”
“It requires, among other things, a sacrifice. Of blood from an angel wing, as only an angel can compel another angel, Fallen or not.”
Another silence fell over the room. With an entirely different kind of tension. Zavier looked down the table at Rhys and Gideon. They shared an unspoken oh shit .
They knew exactly two Fallen—one, since Eva’s aunt had been killed fighting Pestilence. But Fallen weren’t good enough. Full blood angels? Yeah, the Nephilim weren’t so much buds with the celestial hierarchy. Or even allowed access to them.
Impossible to ask Caraxis to send the request up through channels, too, since it could tip off the rogue angels.
They were right back at square one.
“Why’d you even bring this up to us? It’s impossible to execute.”
A shadow passed over the Librarian’s face. “It appears that you, gentlemen, like so many others, have forgotten that I am merely a long-term guest here at the stronghold. That I am not a Nephilim .”
Oh shit .
Zavier had to make this right. No waiting for Rhys. “Hariel, we meant no disrespect. We never forget for a moment your exalted status. But we couldn’t ask you to make that sacrifice. Not with your…circumstances.”
“Are you trying to be tactful, Zavier Carranza?” Deep laughter burst out of the angel. “I did not think I’d ever see the day.”
Yeah, that was why he rarely made the effort. “Fine. I’ll say it plainly. You only have one wing. We wouldn’t consider draining any of your reserve.”
Hariel wafted his single wing back and forth. “I can’t fly, with or without my wing blood. I’ve been grounded for six centuries already.”
Maisy triangulated her darting gaze between Rhys, Zavier, and Hariel. “What’s the big deal? I want to be sensitive, but I’m definitely missing something.”
“Wing blood doesn’t just keep a wing healthy, Keeper. It carries the, ah, celestial oomph that gives angels our powers.”
“Oh geez.” Maisy stretched her arm across the table to squeeze his hand. “You can’t do that.”
No one but Maisy Norgate would touch an angel without permission. Her heart knew no bounds.
Hariel’s deeply cragged face worked into even deeper precipices as he smiled at her with what could only be regret. “No one else can risk it. It needs to be done.”
“No.” Zavier slammed his palm against the table so hard that a fig jumped off of his plate. “We’re not asking for your sacrifice.”
“But I’m giving it. It will be quite satisfying to make such an impact on the world again.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Evangeline said. She’d initially been cautious of the Librarian, but came to respect him with her frequent research visits to his domain. She said that she found a kinship with him, as they were both outsiders and unique: Hariel a wingless angel and Eva being the only Dark Nephilim in existence, who had believed herself powerless until a few months ago.
Rhys rubbed a hand across his eyes. Zavier knew that gesture. It occurred when Rhys was already troubleshooting ten items down on a to-do list.
“If you do this, it can’t happen here. You’d have to come to the WatchTower. There’s no believable explanation why a full-blood angel would suddenly be confined to their bed for a few weeks. Not like you could pass it off as chicken pox.”
Nephilim didn’t get sick. They could get injured, but not cancers, viruses, bacteria. Angels, well, they were practically impervious. And Hariel hadn’t taken a day off in forever. Literally. He lived at the stronghold. He didn’t take vacations. Didn’t go to librarian conferences, or hike, or fly on an airplane. He dedicated himself solely to the library and the betterment of Nephilim .
“It would be more likely a month, minimum, before my wing blood fully restores.”
Once the summoning occurred, it was a safe bet that everything would come to a head and be over, one way or another, within a month. Yeah, Zavier thought it’d be no issue at all to keep him safe until then. Liss would probably make him watch bad movies with them during his recovery.
She hated missing out when they relaxed together. And why wasn’t she eager to share whatever intel she’d charmed out of the other Nephilim ?
Where was she?
Gideon spoke first. “We’d be honored to host you at the WatchTower. If you’re willing to travel.”
“You mean because I never leave the Stronghold? I was waiting for the right reason.” Hariel dipped his head. “This feels like it.”
“Oh, definitely.” Maisy squeezed his hand again. “Wait until you taste the six-layer hot fudge sundae cake that Liss and I make. You’ll never want to leave.”
Zavier’s awareness snapped out of the conversation again at hearing Liss’s name. In normal circumstances, he’d swear to the Stronghold being safe. Not the most welcoming to a human, but safe, with all knowing that she was under their protection.
But with rogue angels gathering Nephilim to their unholy cause, maybe someone saw Liss as fair game.
They should’ve thought of that.
He should’ve checked for her sooner. Being tired and hungry and sore didn’t matter. Liss was his responsibility.
“Where’s Liss?” he asked, swallowing his growing panic. Because Zavier never panicked. He wasn’t even sure that’s what the feeling was. The feeling of his heart being lodged right about his Adam’s apple. Maybe it was just a bite of lamb stuck there?
Evangeline brandished her phone. “She texted me that she was going to stand by the north exit to the arena and listen as people came out to catch any unpopular opinions.”
Damn it. He didn’t have his phone. No pockets in the tournament leathers. “Text her now.” Zavier launched himself from the bench. “Could she be anywhere else?”
Eva shook her head. “The only other place she knows is the library.”
“Something’s not right.” He threw open the door. Looked down the empty hall.
“More likely that she got lost.”
“Then why didn’t she text one of you to come help her?” There wasn’t any time to lose. “We split up. Eva, you come with me. We’ll take the second floor. Maisy, you go with Rhys to the third. You’ve both got phones so we can stay in touch.”
Gideon pushed off the bench hard enough to topple it backward onto the floor. “I’ll head back to the arena. You know she’s a talker. Could be one of those cocky-ass youngsters tied her up with a proposition.”
“I enjoy the spirit of the human woman. May you find her quickly,” Hariel said.
Zavier took off at a run.
“Wait!” Evangeline flew to him. Grabbed his biceps. “You can’t be seen rushing around. We need to play it cool.”
“Everyone’s eating in the Great Hall.”
“No, everyone should be. Who knows? Maybe some are on their way to spy on us right now?”
He slowed to a fast walk. “How does Gideon put up with you being so annoyingly smart?”
“By being plenty annoying himself. And then we kiss a lot, which evens everything out.”
“Guess that’s the difference. When Gideon annoys the hell out of me, there’s no step two.” They were still in the common area where she’d more likely be. One fork went off to the kitchen. The other side of the dark stone wall led to the PT area. No reason for Liss to be either place.
So he went left. Liss had told him, just last week, that the left line at a theme park got you to the front faster. And he really wanted to get to her. Fast.
Flames flickered behind the high brass sconces on the walls. The Stronghold had electricity. They just liked to keep the look as old-school as possible. The scent of honey cakes wafted to them. Kitchens were near. That meant more people—
He stopped so abruptly that Eva ran into him. Guess she hadn’t learned how to backpedal with her wings yet. There was a shadow on the wall, of a body on the ground with an amorphous shape above it. “You ready to do your thing?” he asked Eva, and pointed at the shadow.
Her unique gift was being able to thwart evil power. Any demon in her vicinity became nothing more scary than a reptilian toy with a bad attitude. Depending on the strength of the demon, she didn’t even have to touch it to negate the power. It’d be less risk, if that was Liss on the floor, to send Evangeline first and not have Zavier go in swinging with his daggers.
Eva pushed her hair behind her shoulders. Then she sucked in a deep breath. “Be right behind me, please,” she whispered.
“I’ll be so close it’ll make Gideon jealous,” he promised. She’d only actively engaged with a few demons, having spent her whole life until recently trying to get rid of her powers. This was a big ask for her.
She strode around the corner, one hand outstretched. The second her power connected with the freaking ball of light… feeding off of Liss, it shifted into human form.
A human without skin.
“It’s a loogaroo ,” he whispered. “Get Liss. Keep low.”
Zavier couldn’t spare a second look at the motionless woman on the floor. They couldn’t do anything to help her until the loogaroo was killed.
And man, did he want to kill that thing.
Its fingers were still making bloody streaks on Liss’s shoulders. The head had whipped around once it took form, and it hissed at him.
“Go back to Hell,” he snarled. Then Zavier kicked its side to loft it off of Liss. While it was still in midair, he impaled it with his dagger. By the time it scraped along the wall to the floor, it was dead.
Too bad.
He wanted to make it hurt for daring to touch Liss.
“Zavier,” Evangeline said urgently. “She’s almost gone!”
He whirled around to crouch by her. Her complexion had always been Snow White pale, but now Liss was completely colorless, except for the cloud of black hair fanned out around her head—like a corpse.
No.
She couldn’t be.
Evangeline had ripped the pink scarf from her own neck and wadded it up against the wound on Liss’s. But…the stain of blood on it wasn’t growing.
Terrified, he put two fingers on the inside of her limp wrist to check for a pulse.
And found nothing.